


Quenched

by Rambo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Foot Massage, They’ve been drinking, foot massage leads to more, sweet sweet cunnilingus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rambo/pseuds/Rambo
Summary: There’s a feast at the Red Keep. Sansa leaves early, done with the festivities. On her way back to her chambers she encounters the Hound drinking in an alcove.This is shameless smut on my part. Enjoy.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 153





	Quenched

The feast was still raging in the great hall as Sansa stumbled out. It was late, but the celebration was still going strong. She, however, had had her fill. Exhaustion was beginning to creep into her bones, the wine she’d been nursing over the course of the night wrapping around her brain like cotton. She felt a little fuzzy, but it was nothing compared to some of her past attempts to drown out her sorrows after some particularly cruel tormenting on Joffrey’s part. 

Sansa hummed as she strolled through the empty halls of the Red Keep. Her feet were a little unsteady, but she manage to keep her grace. The thoughts of her bed urged her forward, her feather mattress and soft quilt calling her name. The torches gave the dark stone of the Keep a soft feeling, their warm orange glow enveloping the halls and making the ornate masonry almost cozy. Sansa was taking in the tapestries and designs of the stone when she passed an alcove and heard a hiccup from inside. 

She stopped and peered in, trying to give her eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness and see who the hiccup came from. After a moment she was able to discern a hulking, slumped figure. She instantly knew who it must be, as no other man in King’s Landing could match his size. Sansa looked around, cautious of prying eyes. When she was satisfied no one was near, she slipped into the dark alcove. The Hound was sitting in the corner, one leg outstretched in front of him, the other bent so he could rest his arm on it and his forehead on his arm. The arm laying flat at this side clutched a wine skin. For a moment, Sansa thought him passed out and unaware of her presence. But then he spoke, “Hello, little bird. Had enough of those pompous twats for the evening?”

Sansa has expected him to be slurring his words, but he sounded fairly sober despite the scent of the sour wine clinging to the cramped air of the alcove. Sansa ignored his question, thinking he already knew the answer, “How did you know it was me?”  
He chuckled, “Your perfume.” Sansa’s cheeks reddened are the simple response. The idea that her scent was so familiar to him made her head swim for a moment, unsure what to do with that information.  
“Ah,” was all she said for a moment. Then, “Why aren’t you at the feast?”  
“Same reason as you, girl.” He still hadn’t lifted his head to look up at her. So, Sansa quit looming over him and eased herself down next to him. At that, he picked his head up and turned to look at her. He was frowning, “What are you doing getting in the floor with a dog?”  
Sansa rolled her eyes, “My feet hurt.” He glanced down at her dainty legs, slippered feet sticking out from under her dress, white stockings slightly illuminated in the dim alcove. 

The Hound did something very strange. Sansa held her breath as he leaned forward and grabbed both of her ankles, spinning her around so she sat perpendicular to him instead of parallel, her legs pulled into his lap. He seemed to be holding his breath too, probably expecting her to have already started screaming. But instead, Sansa let out her breath and relaxed, slumping down against the wall, enjoying the heat she felt coming off of him in the cramped space. Sansa broke the pregnant silence, “These slippers are too small for me. I’ve grown a lot since coming here, but I have no means of getting new clothing.” 

Sansa could see The Hound‘s eyes flick to her chest for a split second, confirming what she’d just said, as her breasts were stuffed into her too-tight dress. “Aye, you’ve grown,” he said. Sansa was startled when one of his enormous hands wrapped around her right ankle, the other forgot it’s wine skin and moved to grip the heel of her slipper, gently giving it a tug to guide the shoe off her aching foot. Sansa blushed, hard, thankful for the poor light as he took the other shoe off and began to massage the arch of her foot. She inadvertently let out a moan at the sensation and then gasped and clamped a hand down over her mouth. The Hound’s grip on Sansa’s foot squeezed for a moment at the sound and then he spoke, “I grew like a weed when I was your age, I swear, as wealthy as the Lannister’s are, I’m sure the cost to feed and clothe me put a noticeable dent in their hoard.” 

Sansa giggled at that, but then grew a little sullen, “I’m glad they took care of you.” Before he had a chance to say anything, Sansa leaned over him and found his wine skin. Her nostrils filled with the scent of leather and sandalwood as she brushed past him. She then realized he wasn’t wearing his armor, just a leather jerkin and linen breeches and shirt. He eyed her from the side as she uncorked the skin and took a long swig. She stifled the urge to cough after the heinous liquid had finished its path down her throat. The Hound wordlessly grabbed the wine skin back as she was wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. He closed his eyes and put his lips where hers just were and he too took a long pull. After he was done he corked it and placed it back on the ground. “You don’t deserve how they treat you. Any of them, not just Joff and Cersei.” Sansa stared at him wide eyed, shocked by his candor.  
She managed to stumble out, “I-I know.”  
He held her foot, gave it a squeeze and said, “It can be easy to forgot you don’t deserve the abuse when you’ve been mired in it for so long.” She could tell he was speaking from experience, and that made Sansa swallow a lump in her throat. 

And so they sat, quietly, passing the wine skin back and forth as the minutes ticked on and they enjoyed the comfort of another person. Sansa knew how she was acting was wholly inappropriate. She knew she shouldn’t be sitting on the floor of an alcove, alone with a brute, skirts rucked up to her knees, legs resting in the lap of a hardened soldier, accepting his caresses. But she couldn’t bring herself to care, because it was so, so, so nice, and the wine didn’t let her dwell on it too much. She wasn’t tipsy anymore, but she was drunk, and she could tell the Hound was as well by how much he was letting his guard down in front of her. Sansa began to stare at him, his unscarred side facing her. His profile was so strong. His nose was prominent and had a bump in it, his brow was heavy, jaw sharper than a Valyrian steel sword. His Adam’s apple bobbed occasionally in his throat, his throat that was part of a thickly muscles neck attached to an even more thickly muscled torso. A torso that was still bulky even without it’s shiny Kingsguard armor. 

Sansa was so caught up in studying him that she didn’t immediately notice how the Hound’s hands had stopped massaging her feet and were working their way up her calves. She didn’t react, afraid that if she moved or made a sound that he would be spooked and would take his hands off her altogether. Sansa knew she shouldn’t let him touch her like this, that she shouldn’t be with him in this alcove at all, but she couldn’t help it. Every palpating touch up her leg sent a shock to her core. Heat was pooling inside Sansa, so deliciously, and the wine was making her feel so wonderfully fuzzy. So, she closed her eyes, saying to hell with any consequences, and she let it happen. She let this man, who was feared by all, who she regarded as her friend in whatever twisted sense that was among all these horrible nobles, touch her. 

She could hear his breathing get a little heavier and so Sansa opened her eyes. She blushed even harder than before as she locked her Tully blue eyes on his grey Clegane steel. He broke the silence, his hands hovering at the hem of her dress around her knees, “Little bird.” Those two little words, his pet name for her, made something inside Sansa snap. She didn’t know what would come next, but she was curious to find out. She wanted him, more than she’d ever wanted something before. And so, without taking her eyes from his, Sansa reached out and grabbed his hand, guiding it up and under her dress. He made a sound like a growl, clamping his eyes shut to savor the feeling of his rough hands gliding over Sansa’s silky thighs. Her stockings only went slightly above her knees, so the pair relished in the feeling of skin on skin. 

Sansa closed her eyes as well and let out another moan, but she was not shocked or embarrassed by this one. How could she be when the sensation of his large hands squeezing and gliding up and down her thighs was beyond anything she’d felt before? Sansa’s eyes flew open at the sudden sensation of his knuckles grazing across her woman’s place over her smallclothes. She reddened, and her eyes found his again. Something had changed in them. Something even the dim light couldn’t conceal. There was a ferocity, an intensity, a longing... he spoke, “Tell me to stop.” He almost gasped it out. He sounded almost as if he was in pain. “Tell me to stop touching you before I make you dirty with these paws of mine.” Sansa considered his words for a moment, her heart hammering out of her chest, something in the back of her brain was screaming at her to listen to him. But she considered his command and decided to ignore it. Sansa slowly shook her head, side to side. And with that, the Hound really did growl. He reached further under her skirts and pulled her smallclothes aside to reveal her woman’s place. He couldn’t see it, as her skirts were not hiked up far enough, but he groaned when he dragged a finger up her slit. Sansa squirmed at the sensation, knocking her knees together when clamping her legs shut. The Hound pried her legs back open, pushing them apart to allow him better access to her heat. 

Clegane touched her again, sliding a finger up her once more, this time collecting some of the wetness that had pooled within her. Sansa’s heart felt like it was going to explode. Here she was, drunk with a member of the Kingsguard, allowing him to touch her in her most intimate place. Sansa has half a mind to stand up and run away, her courage leaving her as the gravity of the situation was coming down on her. She was about to, when Clegane’s finger swiped over a sensitive bud of flesh and Sansa gasped. His head whipped up to look at her, blushing and chest heaving as he played with her cunny. “That’s the sweet spot, little bird.” His voice was thick, breathless... dangerous. His deep baritone shot straight to Sansa’s woman’s place and she felt it throb. “Have you touched it before?”  
Sansa shook her head no, words escaping her as he continued to rub that ‘sweet spot’. Her admission seemed to spur him on, ecstatic at the knowledge that he was the first to be there. “Mmmm, you’re so wet already. All for me.” 

Sansa squirmed as she felt another one of his fingers probe her entrance. “I can stop,” he said, not yet dipping inside.  
“Don’t stop,” the words tumbled from Sansa’s mouth before they even had a chance to register in her mind. He didn’t hesitate. Clegane used his right thumb to continue swirling her bud and then proceeded to dip his left middle finger inside Sansa. He went slow, afraid his large appendage would hurt her, but he met no resistance. “Fuck,” he breathed as her wet core clamped down around his finger. Sansa made a muffled sound of embarrassment as he began to move, pleasing her from the inside and out. “Tell me to stop,” he said once more. But Sansa just moaned in response. His long finger was pressing against something wondrous inside Sansa, amplified by the stimulation he was providing her sweet spot. “Oh gods,” he ground out. “Please let me look at you.”

Sansa was shocked that he said please, but was confused at his question. “W-what do y-you mean?” she managed.  
“Your cunny,” he glanced up at her. “Let me look at it, please.” Sansa bit her lower lip. She thought that letting him touch her was bad enough as it was, but then to let him look at her most intimate place was another. But the look in his eyes was feral, desperate. And he’d said please, again. Sansa reached down and grabbed the bottom of her dress, pulling it higher and higher until it was bunched around her waist. She had to wrestle it out from under her bottom, hissing as her bare cheeks made contact with the cool stone. 

Clegane startled Sansa when he took his hands away from her woman’s place. She ached at the sudden lack of sensation. He moved quickly, picking up her legs so he could get up. He moved from a sprawled sitting position to a kneeling position. Sansa swallowed when her eyes fell on the bulge inside his breeches, she didn’t let her eyes linger for long. So, he kneeled in front of her, nestled between her legs which were slightly bent on either side of him. He placed a hand on both her knees and then bent her legs forward, totally splaying her legs open. Her  
small clothes had slipped back over her in the process, so he reached to move them. 

Sansa grabbed his wrist just before he made contact. “Wait.” She clamped her thighs together.  
“What?” she could tell he was worried she’d changed her mind.  
“We could be seen. I could be seen like this.”  
He paused, “The whole bloody castle is drunk in the great hall. No one is wandering around here.”  
Sansa let go of his wrist, “You’re right.” She gave him a sheepish smile and then let her legs fall open again. Clegane made a gruff sound and hooked a finger into her smallclothes, pulling them aside to reveal her red curls and slick, pink folds. “Mother have mercy,” he breathed out. His eyes snapped up to Sansa’s, something had suddenly changed within him. “Stand up.”

Sansa was taken aback by the request. Was something wrong with what he saw? Was he going to shoo her away and tell her he was disgusted by her wanton behavior? Sansa’s started at him, mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. “Stand. Up.” His tone was firm, absolute, not open the questions. Sansa did as she was told, awkwardly getting up from her position on the floor, letting her dress fall back down and staring at the Hound on his knees before her. Once she was up, she stood there for a moment before he shuffled forward on his knees, closer to her. He placed both his hands on Sansa’s left calf and slowly, oh so slowly, slid them up to her knee. She sucked in a breath, unsure of what he was doing. He gripped her knee and picked her leg up, settling it on his shoulder. He slid his hand up to Sansa’s thigh, moving her dress up and up, exposing her thighs to him at eye-level. He then placed a kiss on her thigh, trailing them up. Sansa’s relaxed once more, closing her eyes and reveling in the sensation of his lips and stubble grazing along her sensitive flesh. 

Suddenly, he gripped her small clothes and yanked at them, hard. There was a loud ripping sound, an almost-painful tug at Sansa’s hips, and then they were off. Sansa gasped, “What did you do that for?”  
The Hound gave a dark chuckle, “I wanted them.” Without missing a beat, he stuffed them in one of his pockets. The simple action sent a jolt straight to Sansa’s core and her woman’s place throbbed. “Oh,” was all she could manage. Clegane then used his right hand to pull Sansa’s dress up over her hips, exposing her to mingling of the cool night air and the warm breath of her... lover? 

She shook her head and moved past that thought. Without warning, he dipped his left middle finger inside of her once more and Sansa rolled her hips at the intrusion. Next, even more surprisingly, he leaned forward and put his mouth there. Sansa was horrified for a moment, embarrassed that he would think to do such a thing, but then his tongue found her sweet spot, and he sucked at it, and Sansa’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. “Oh!” she exclaimed and shot her hands out to tangle in his hair, urging him forward. His finger worked inside her, stroking that place once more, while his mouth lapped and sucked at her folds. He came up for a moment and Sansa had to fight the urge to shove his head back down. “You taste so good. I knew your cunny would be delicious, oh, sweet girl.”  
“Y-you feel good,” she stuttered out. Her words sent him into a frenzy. 

The Hound dove into her with an intensity she didn’t know possible. His finger stoked inside of her, beautifully complimenting the pace of his tongue bobbing and swirling over her soaking wet folds. The alcove was filled with slurping and sucking noises and the strange new sound of his finger working beside her. Sansa was panting, moaning, she was going mad. Her hands were wound so tightly in his hair she marveled at how he didn’t cry out in pain. As he lapped at her, and tension was building inside. Growing, aching, feeling like it needed to be released. “S-something is happening!” she didn’t want to be too loud so it came out as a harsh whisper. He said nothing, only continued to do exactly what he’d been doing. His hand that was holding her dress up began to squeeze at her midsection as he worked he down below, it must have been a sign of his excitement. 

The pressure grew and grew, Sansa was becoming frantic, she even started grinding at his face as he sucked and licked and fingered. Finally, the tension broke and Sansa cried out as a new, powerful sensation overcame her. He did not stop as she dug her fingers into his scalp, he did not stop as he made sounds that were borderline sobs, and he did not stop as he legs shook and began to falter in strength. He only stopped when she had quieted down and had nothing left besides some residual twitches at the last of his stimulation as he dragged his finger up and down her slit a few more times before he pulled away. He admired her, trembling and flushed. He reached out once more, spread her folds open, and placed a few loud, sucking kisses on her sweet spot. Sansa spasmed and stifled a moan at the sensation. 

Clegane gently lowered her leg off his shoulder, let her dress fall, and then sat back on his heels. He looked up at her a moment, admiring her a bit more after her first peak. Then, he stood up, grabbed his wine skin, and offered it to her. “N-no thank you,” Sansa’s voice sounded foreign to her own ears. “You can go ahead, though,” she gestured for him to drink.  
He locked eyes with Sansa, “I’ve already had my fill, little bird.” 

With that, he turned from her and ducked from the alcove. She was left standing on shaking legs she didn’t trust to carry her, no smallclothes, and an empty feeling in her woman’s place that left her craving the Hound’s attentions once more. “Fuck,” she breathed out.


End file.
